Buried Alive! by Jacqueline Wilson Page B

pulp and Tim practically got his head bashed in.’
    â€˜The way Prickle-Head was holding the spade it could have sliced off the top of my head just like a boiled egg!’ I said dramatically.
    Kelly refused to be impressed.
    â€˜If I’d caught you there with Biscuits I’d have jumped up and down on your head myself,’ she said darkly.
    She waved Theresa Troll in the air and hit me hard before I had time to duck. It was surprising how much a plastic troll could hurt.
    â€˜
Ouch!
’ I said, reeling. I had to try very very hard not to cry.
    â€˜Serves you right,’ said Kelly. ‘Just be glad Theresa’s not a sharp spade. I’m not like this stupid Prickle-Head you keep going on about. I don’t miss when I take aim.’
    She stalked off, her pony-tail switching furiously right and left.
    â€˜Wow!’ said Biscuits. ‘Old Killer-Kelly, eh? I dropped you in it there all right, didn’t I, Super-Tim?’
    â€˜Too right, Biscuits-Boy,’ I said, rubbing my head ruefully.
    I sighed. At least I was back being friends with Biscuits. I hoped that Kelly might have got over her mega-huff by tomorrow. I so wanted us
all
to be friends.
    â€˜What’s up, dear?’ said Mum, coming and putting her arm round me. ‘You’re looking a bit peaky. How’s your poor old eye? It’s not still smarting, is it? It looks a bit watery.’
    â€˜It’s fine, Mum, really,’ I said.
    â€˜It’s silly, everyone thinks sandy beaches are so safe – and yet they can cause all sorts of problems,’ said Mum.
    â€˜I know,’ I said. I wondered what Mum would say if she knew of my problems in the sand with Prickle-Head.
    â€˜I’d be happy to give the beach a miss tomorrow,’ said Mum, keeping her voice down. ‘We could go for a car trip, maybe explore another castle. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Tim? And Biscuits will go along with that so long as we feed him every five minutes.’ Mum sniffed.
    â€˜You bet I will,’ said Biscuits, who had sharp ears.
    â€˜So it’s all settled,’ said Mum. ‘We’ll go on a car trip, just the four of us.’
    â€˜What’s that?’ said Dad, coming over. ‘Not tomorrow. It’s the Caravan Site Carnival Day and we’ve all been invited, remember?’
    â€˜Oh yes,’ said Mum. ‘But Tim and Biscuits want to go for a car ride, don’t you boys?’
    â€˜I’d sooner go to a carnival,’ said Biscuits. I saw the dreamy look in his eyes. Carnivals meant ice-creams and candy floss and hot dogs.
    â€˜What about you, Tim?’ said Mum.
    I hesitated. I hated to upset her. But if I didn’t go to this Carnival Day I knew I’d upsetKelly even more. I rubbed the sore place on my forehead where Theresa Troll had clouted me.
    â€˜I’d like to go to the Carnival Day too,’ I said.
    It was a BIG mistake.
    The moment we got to the caravan site and saw the ropes and flags set out across the beach I realized something terrible.
    There were going to be sports.
    I am the least sporty boy ever.
    â€˜Great!’ said Dad, reading the poster. ‘There’s going to be all sorts of races. Sprinting, relay, three-legged, sack race, egg and spoon. You boys must have a go.’
    â€˜It’ll be just for people staying at the caravan site,’ I said quickly. ‘We can’t enter, it wouldn’t be fair.’
    â€˜Don’t be such a wimp, Tim,’ Dad said sharply. ‘Of course you can enter.’
    â€˜But I don’t want to!’ I said.
    â€˜Nor do I, actually, said Biscuits loyally.
    â€˜There! We’d have all been much better off if we’d gone for a car ride,’ said Mum. ‘In fact, why don’t we still go? This carnival doesn’t look very exciting. There aren’t any craft or bric-a-brac stalls, and the tombola prizes don’t look much cop. There aren’t